Saturday, December 26, 2009

Beware of Pollywogs

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I am supposed
to be sensitive for I am
an artist – I cry at a
raindrop get mad at a
bus stop get mushy
from friendships find joy in
the absurd – the world

is my
personal attacker – and I may
one day go and cut off
my ear.

-Ryn Gargulinski.12.09

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Friday, December 25, 2009

Sawyer as goalie defending new dog toy


you’d think his new
dog toy was a bloody
rabbit or a bowl full of
guts the way
sawyer defends it, his
teeth bared, a growl – the

same way I still
defend my

-Ryn Gargulinski.12.2009

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Angry man at La Guardia airport


sometimes I
feel their hate – it
radiates like toxins bores
holes through my skull smells
acrid like sulfur eats tunnels
through my nose I wonder
what made their souls so
hardened – what charred their
hearts to blackened scraps
of coal.

-Ryn Gargulinski.12.2009

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Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Most Embarrassing Moment - Two poems below


by Ryn Gargulinski

I wanted her
to like me because she
was his mom and he
was my boyfriend and
the first impression is the
lasting impression that can
make or mar the future make her
hate me for 12 years so I brought a
homemade trinket chitted chat about
her past said I really like your house this fine
gold carpet looks brand new and she

may have gone and
liked me just fine – if my dog had not
straddled that
gold carpet and

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Going Down On A Horse”

by Andrew Ulanowski

So there we were
Sitting on the grass
In Griffith Park.
You were beautiful
And I was a boy
With drool on my chin.
Our horses were tied over there
While we got stoned on the grass
At the top of a hill.
I could have said
“Kathy, will you be my girl”
Or (equally dorky and trite)
“I really, really like you”
As I looked down the slope
I thought of us riding,
No, galloping
Like lovers in a movie
Down that green sward
And I said instead
“Kathy, there’s nothing I like
Better than . . .

Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Aqua

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Monday, December 07, 2009


Read three poems below on the topic of NOSTALGIA.


by Ryn Gargulinski

When I chop
green onions I
think of you the
technique you learned in
cooking school about
peeling off the layers to get to
the good stuff nestled deep
inside – when I

said it wastes half the onion you asked
did I like such things that were
scratchy and bland – which is what

happened to our relationship we
stopped laughing stopped trusting you
pretended to have a job at some restaurant but just
hid around the corner as I took the

train to work – but some
fond stuff is still
nestled deep inside – in that
tasty plump core called

The Last Place You Look

by Andrew Ulanowski

I remember
When my father was alive
And the Cubs
Had players like
Ernie Banks,
Billy Williams,
Ron Santo
And the coach
Was Leo Durocher.
One year
My Dad gave me a baseball;
My favorites
Had signed it
But it was a fake.
No matter.
It was my Dad’s heart
With Little scribbles
On it.
I used to think
It lost

But I just looked
And it’s here
In my heart
Right where he left it . . .

Read more Ulanowski poetry under his pen name Raul Aqua at Aqua


by Ryn Gargulinski

I sometimes pine for
strange things like a
colored candy necklace that would
quickly stain your skin or the trek we’d
take to buy them from the
cottage to the gas mart past the
quarry where the frogs rot in the days
before quarries were fenced off in the days
before sunshine could cancer you in the days
before heartbreak before loss
of friends and pets the days
where you didn’t even care (when)
a necklace stained
your skin.

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